Last week at school one of the receptionists in the faculty
office area pointed to a basket of small candies and indicated that they were
from Canada. That stopped me in my tracks.
My grandfather was Canadian and during his visits to Motown he would often
bring candy bars. Without a doubt the family favorite was a treat called ‘Coffee
Crisp’ that we kids would fight over.
So when my eyes swept the pile of goodies, that’s what I was
seeking. Unfortunately, there was none to be had. I briefly explained the
background for it and went on my way. I hadn’t thought about these in years and
could not remember the last time I’d had one.
Upon returning home that night I found a small bag on the
counter. Turns out my wife had been in a local store that carries a wide
variety of products from around the world. Inside was a Coffee Crisp. With a laugh I told her about the
conversation earlier in the day.
“Our brains are on the same wave lengths,” she said.
It’s something we’ve experienced a few times before. And I
know of others, often people who have been close together for many years or
have some bond where they pick up on each other’s thoughts. It’s the kind of
connection some writers will use with their characters. Some will take it to the level of super
powers. Others have it more as a quirk of human nature.
It’s one of my habits as a writer to utilize such moments.
They can be part of an everyday situation, something that the readers may
identify with. Which is something I’m always striving to do.
Here’s an example of that psychic connection in an excerpt
from “Why 319?”
In this scene, Chene and his partner, Megan McDonald, are
interviewing Simone Bettencourt, the roommate of the latest homicide
victim.
“When was the last time you saw
Janet?”
She raked her fingers through her
hair, actually pulling it into some semblance of order. “Wednesday night. She
was here when I came home from the bar. I stopped off for a couple of glasses
of wine with some people from work. We talked for a little, then she crashed.
She was gone for work Thursday before I got up.”
“You didn’t see her Thursday night?”
Megan asked.
“No. I didn’t come home until early
this morning.” She turned those brown eyes on me. I got the feeling she was
daring me to ask where she’d been. So I did. There was anger in her voice as
she answered.
“I had dinner with my mother
Thursday. I ended up staying the night. I had a date after work Friday. It was
a group thing. We went to a concert and then a bar afterwards. I got home
around three. I’ve been waiting up for her since then.”
“So why did you say you knew she
was dead?” Megan asked.
“Because I saw her die.”
* * *
I tested the coffee. It was strong
without any frills. Megan added a couple scoops of sugar from the tray. She
preferred coffee with enough sweetness to make ice cream. “Let’s get back to
your comment that you saw her die,” I said. “Because earlier you said you didn’t
see Janet yesterday.”
“I didn’t physically see her. But I
saw the image of her being killed as I was coming in the apartment.”
“Look, Miss Bettencourt…”
“Simone. Please, just call me
Simone.”
“Okay. Simone. Can you describe
what you saw?”
The eyes burned into me for a
second. Maybe she thought I was just humoring her. Maybe I was. But she seemed
serious. There was no harm in letting her explain.
“Janet and I developed this over
the years. It’s not uncommon. Usually it happens with people who spend a lot of
time together, like married couples, close friends. They say it’s really strong
in twins. We could finish each other’s sentences. Complete each other’s
thoughts. It was sort of a combination of déjà vu and telepathy.”
“Can you give me any examples?”
Megan asked.
“One time, Janet was running late.
Suddenly, I had the image that she was in a car accident. Not five seconds
later, my phone rang. She’d been rear ended less than a mile from here. She was
okay, but her car was a mess.”
“Any others?” Megan asked.
“Once I left the oven on. There was
a towel stuck in the oven door. It started to catch fire. Janet sensed there
was something wrong and came home. She pulled it out just before the whole
stove was burning. We used to laugh about it.
“But it wasn’t something
predictable. I think it was really triggered by the emotions. Maybe it’s tied
to adrenaline when it enters your system.”
I took a second before asking my
question. Megan sipped her coffee, then absently broke an edge off a muffin and
popped it into her mouth. Simone kept watching me. “Give me an example of the
emotions. You talked about the accident. Were there any others?”
“Yes. Janet was stronger. She could
sense things happening to me more frequently but didn’t talk about it. I didn’t
get the images of her as often. When I did, they were usually very intense.
Then it would fade out quickly. Like the night she lost it. Her emotions were
running wild. She was nervous, anxious, excited, scared, and aroused all at the
same time.”
Before she could continue, Megan
leaned back so she was no longer in Simone’s peripheral vision and mouthed the
word “sex.” I had already figured that one out.
“Did she mention a new boyfriend?”
I asked.
“No. She’d broken up with Tony, the
guy she’d been involved with, about six months ago. His job got transferred out
of state. There was no way she’d consider moving. Besides, he wasn’t that good
to her. Janet complained that he only wanted to do it one way. He wasn’t even
open to discussing other positions.” She gave her head a little shake. “What an
ass.”
I’d waited long enough, so I
rephrased my earlier question. “Okay. Describe the image you saw last night.”
Simone took in a long, slow breath.
“It looked like a hotel room. Cream-colored walls with cheap artwork, like a
seascape. There was one large bed. Janet was sprawled across it. She was naked.
She was having trouble focusing and breathing. She couldn’t move her arms and
legs much. It was like she was very, very drunk. And then there was the pillow.”
“What else?” I asked.
“All of her attention was on the
pillow. It came down slowly, covering her face. But it slipped, leaving her
right eye exposed. She could see a blurry image. But she couldn’t do anything
to stop him.”
Megan cleared her throat. “Could
you see him, enough to describe him?”
“He was smooth. All I can tell you
is that he was really smooth.”
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Music this week comes from an old favorite by John Lennon.
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